


Grey, Numerous Days and Grievous Aspirations

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anthology, Original work - Freeform, Other, Poetry, compilation of poetry, introspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 04:36:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection of numerous poetry. My nature is not very welcome, nor is it very relatable.Will contemplate isolation, ambitions, and many other various ponderings.





	1. oldest first

No spark to catch my wit,  
A numb tongue and ceaseless hits  
Still hands do not miss.

No musings to interrupt my silence,  
A crumbling resolution for violence.

Hesitation;  
Senseless hands without trepidation.

 

* * *

 

 

A horrifying speculation  
A foreseeing abomination

A spectre of fear;  
haunting disbelief  
Shocking exaggeration

Tasteless revelry  
Curious livery

Crime and constriction  
Mime and impersonation

Blind regret led by poison  
Venomous caution tugged to lost humiliations

 

* * *

 

 

Feeling a little tied  
To a distant ghost of meloncholy  
A remnant smeared across my heart;

My mind preoccupied  
The loss of coherent calculation  
Abandoning responsibilities like  
dust in the wind.

 

* * *

 

 

Loathsome child  
Wasting away like so much  
Decay

Wishing for all the world to be you  
A close thundering heart  
Whistles surely as we part.

Little loathsome child  
Left alone again  
Aren’t we?

I smile to you in envious dismay  
You look to me like all the  
World’s okay.

Random wishes we discard  
A clattering kid  
Believing my heart  
Never leave me, don’t you please?

Loathsome child left alone  
Abandoned useless thoughts  
And useless groans

 

* * *

 

 

Binding teeth and biting lungs  
Filling mouths with needless pleas  
Slice this tongue,  
Cut it. Add it to the ferment.

 

* * *

 

 

An insidious feeling  
Unidentifiable:  
Freezing abolition  
Keep it confined--

An insidious, spitting feeling  
A spawn of hateful action  
A “Fuck you,” feeling  
Red-hot and drowning in absurdity

 

* * *

 

 

I pull away  
I don’t shatter  
No one expects that anyway

It’s not a quality  
I’d call my own unquestionably  
That vague assurance  
Everyone holds completely

It tugs my eyes away  
Not my heart-strings  
No one believes anyway

It’s not a dear concern  
Just a ghosting worry  
That I vaguely yearn  
That Everyone sees as misery


	2. how long will it go?

Knacker, knacker  
Teeth chatter  
Clawing dread  
A jumping fret

Feign, faint  
Loss of hate  
Spiteful cornerstone  
Sinking regret

 

* * *

 

Reeling brow  
Don’t let go now!  
I bite deep  
But you bite deeper

Peeling frown  
Don’t stay now!  
Forgetting is cheap  
But ignorance is cheaper

 

* * *

  

All these thoughts and feelings  
Inside my head  
Are mine to hate  
and mine to forget

There is no point to withhold  
These mixtures and fingers  
I act as a living cage for.

 

* * *

  

Following a river of calm apathy  
Deeply churning  
I want it to let go

No words escape me  
A loss of trembling excitement  
Too intimate, much too intimate

Following me down a cold path  
An echo of finicky notes  
And endless restlessness

I fight my hands -  
Paper brittle, under my nails  
Pen set alight with my fingertips

No clever taste on my tongue  
A sudden hole in my passion  
Too distant, much too distant

 

* * *

 

Leave it at that.  
Success is a punishment for those too strong to care.  
Apathy, too pinpricking for my heart,  
A song too far away and soul touching for me to hear.

 

* * *

  

Words taste of withheld harshness and so do memories -  
It’s a lingering thought caught in the snags of my mind, useless and melodic.

Senseless and absent, a breathe out and a breathe in -  
Do you forget the calmness you feel in that present moment?

 

* * *

 

I’m a nothing person.  
A year spent tired,  
A future spent reminiscing.  
Forget and forgive,  
Let me breathe.

 

 

 


	3. a humming, let us not forget that

It hurts and I can’t  
Stop it  
It hurts and I want  
It all to stop

My ribs are missing  
My guts a pool of dark acid  
My bones wont stop shuddering

It hurts and I won’t  
Stop it  
It hurts and I feel  
Like I’m missing

The music’s far away  
The echo’s not reaching me  
The promises I made are all lies

It hurts but I don’t  
Feel it anymore  
It hurts but I’m  
Numbing slowly to it

 

* * *

 

Three Tired Tales:

And I can’t help but believe you are lying to me. Keeping everything hidden from me.

It’s a story that unfolds in my hands. A secret whispered behind uncertain demands.

Brimming with longing, your eyes watering and hands quaking. Lost and never found, you let the song flow out of your palms and into void.

 

* * *

  

sick, very sick.

There’s something living inside my chest  
Sickening and clawing and tearing and Biting

There’s something dieing inside my head  
Pushing and shoving and hurting and  
Crying

Left alone, don’t leave me alone  
Don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t  
Take me far away

 

* * *

 

With the little black mark  
Sipping my soul  
Lost to myself  
Wish me away  
I want to stop thinking  
But the numbing won’t stay.

 

* * *

  

A pool in my hands  
Held against my chest  
Forgiven, you weakened slowly

A heart in your palms  
Held to your breast  
Haunted, I smiled coldly

 

* * *

  

Grit and Kisses, for you my heart,

Swallow piss and wine

Try not to cry you’ll be just fine

Suck it up you disgusting pig

You’ve got a cold ice cube wallowing in your spit

Just shut your eyes little mouse

You’re blind anyway don’t know anything

Crawl away in slime and don’t blink  
Otherwise you’ll just think

You’ve got no right to it so cut it out

Your eyes are the perfect target  
Get out of your ribcage

You failure, you little gullible thing

 

* * *

 

Graceless Face.

Another waste of space,  
Another unaccountable case  
Remember when you  
Cried every night?

Useless failure--  
Useless words spilling from your stomach  
Recall your struggle  
In the thick of my gaze?

Buried under rubbish beliefs,  
Buried under your own pointless thoughts;  
Bite your lip and touch those  
Memories you know are fake.

 

 


	4. hemming and hawing for your delighted grandmother.

Flatware--

I repeat and I repeat  
There’s a vat of acid,  
lying in my gut  
It boils up  
And stoppers my fit

I choke and I choke  
There’s a rock,  
Feeling like obsidian  
Stuck in the crevices and folds  
Of my giddiness

 

* * *

 

Soft meloncholy  
Gentle against this abrased mind  
Whispers, of forgotten follies....

Nevermind.

 

* * *

 

Confusion, dusty fear.  
A river of silence  
Shiver with your sheer  
Feeling of impudence.

Unfinished, unwarranted.

 

* * *

  

Here's the static, the sweating:

My head is static and my heart is quaking. What does it matter that I’m not shaking? I feel like I’m crumbling, but I’m still standing tall; I feel like I’m empty but my mind is simply an echo. My body is calm but everything is dull - doesn’t that mean that there’s something wrong? Doesn’t that mean that I’m wrong? Wrong, twisted up, but I can’t quite feel it. It’s just a dim recollection of times I cried and times I died.

 

* * *

  

Everything feels slow, like I’m walking through mud. Unoriginal, uncreative, uninspired. I’m just a shambling wreck of makeshift dreams and hopes, too bewildered to stay together, to pretend I’m normal. Because I am normal. Eccentricity is the word used to describe us, these wandering golems, filled with dusty aspirations and too sharp affections.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes I burn too much, and I must be quiet. I must be silent, no words of comfort, no words of concern; because what do they mean? They mean nothing, empty husks spooned out of my mouth with no sincere meaning. A conversation repeated, the expected response so dull now that I know I must be silent, for I know I burn too much. Your words are just as routine as mine, just as expected, just as empty.

 

* * *

 

Discarded  
Amongst the drafts

You whistle softly  
‘Tween my ears

You want to see it,  
Right?

Want to hold it,  
To speak it.

But it is discarded  
Among the endless past.

 

* * *

 

There is a narrow opening  
Beside my bed.  
The wall, huddled so close to it,  
Is open with its secrets.  
When I press my hand into that aperture,  
The ceaseless, soft energies  
Brush carefully along the flesh.  
A tingling,  
So quietly within my buzzing skin,  
Real inside my head even as  
My heart glazes with calm.

 


	5. 'til the end, i promise

Throw-away comments like throw-away sheets, difficult to mend and difficult to please.

 

* * *

 

I have no words.

They bled from my mouth  
Along with the hope of meeting you.

This tongue wasn’t meant for talking - this mouth  
For keeping silent.

A whisper, a defragmentation  
An excellent collaboration  
Of our minds.  
It’s a wild hope of useless hues

A feral must-have that I feel I must have.  
Alone and not lonely  
Lonely but not alone.

 

* * *

 

It’s all just a good-bye note to you, a string of ink letters filed neatly along the ivory page. You read quietly, comforted and departed, and I know that the words that reach you now are meaningless. Everything I pour out now is just a hollow repetition of so many others, and your ears must be worn and tired. An endless sand dune, minuscule droplets of hard earth and shell, all the same in their texture and film. You can see it just as clearly as I understand it, but I am just as blind as your groping mind.

 

* * *

 

Sticks bundled about with no limbs in sight. How can it see, with all the lights and spoons in its way?

from a story i will never tell  
to a person that will never hear.

 

* * *

  

It’s like a diary I can’t read, full of complex phrases and double words. It’s like when you speak and all I hear is coarse language, what I know you feel and what you refuse to believe you feel. And it cuts deeply, staring down at this book in my hands, full of gibberish and useless meaning, and it cuts deeply, looking at your feet while sounds tremble out of your lips, overflowing with hurt and bruises.

And it’s like when I fidget and you scowl, it’s like when I throw my head back and laugh and you tut-tut under your tongue.

 

* * *

 

Anger.

A haunting crevice opening up  
Inside my lungs, breaking my  
Belly open, breaking my  
Ribcage open.

A heavy flow of mineral fluid  
Running from my eyes to my mouth  
Choking down my words before I speak.  
It’s not sadness.

I’ve acquired the taste of it  
Full bodied and seen through heavy black lens  
Troubled expression, self-rot  
Maybe someday I’ll forget about it  
Just like everyone else does,  
Just like you say I must.

 

* * *

 

All anyone ever gets is one chance, just one, one to smooth out, free of uniform blemishes, just one chance to hang above their heads and just one chance to pretend that it won’t hang them by their necks when it ends.

 


	6. it's a never ending obelisk to my eternal risk

Irony:

It burns into the retina of your eyes, colored muck that they scoop out to press against your mouth. You fidget and turn your head, but a gripping hand encircles the curve of your jaw and your pulse thrums low against the band of their lifeline. It’s etched out so starkly, so vividly, a line of fine ornamental pitch burning into the skin of your mind.

 

* * *

 

Nervous:

A squeezing, lingering note  
Leaving an ashy taste in the mouth.  
A sputter, a cleanser  
Set to a refined palate.

Tight feeling expiring in the compound  
Restless legs fluttering about.  
Twitching fingers and aching  
Flickers of the eyes.

 

* * *

 

hopeless--

Maybe i shouldn’t waste my time with this. maybe i should just give up on trying.

It’s not exactly easy, after all. it’s not exactly that i’m good at these things naturally, and trying to be better only makes it worse.

A sigh, then i leave the wondering to another time, another me. a sigh, then i try to forget that i cared.

 

* * *

 

I am Writing to a Person that does not exist.

A trembling forethought I cannot keep for long--

wilting and crumbling within my foreign crypt

Complexity and twining letters....

All listed and filed.

 

A lie that all know with a certain

Apathy, empathy,

What does it matter that it solidifies in my mind, rusted and filthy?

Forgive, comfort, I laughingly plea,

Whisper useless reassurances I do not believe, and

Tell me I'm not broken.

 

A cat's purr whispers sweeter endearments

Than have rolled from your golden tongue

And again, I wonder why I

attempt this vague,

disorientated,

flawed attempt at words and writing.

 

This is not the point. It never was.

You are not here. You never were, never will be.

I send a letter to a "you," now, unlabeled and unknown--

Buried in an unbirthed, untainted womb.

A letter carrying the whimsies of my want, of my desperation.

 

This is a love letter to you,

a person that does not exist

And this is a lie, sent to myself,

a person that steeps in delusion.

 

* * *

 

Defragmented--

Start with the title.

Learn the simple symphonies

The words, whole.

That word is not right; no one knows it.

That letter speaks sickly; no one wants it.

Either speak correctly, precisely,

or don't open that

Gaping mouth

that

Addled mind, filled with blackened holes.

Whole--

I'm whole.

You won't believe it;

You won't remember it.

 

* * *

 

Empty Song Title:

my body Sways with Emotion

but my head sighs and rings

with Calm.

 

Nobody can read my handwriting

but everyone can hurt me.

they say 'Rude,' and mean

'Cruel,'

and they slam the doors, all the corridor down.

 

And they frivolously forget

while i ache and

keep my mouth tight with Grit.

Tight around a million truths of myself

and a million lies Nobody wants.

 

* * *

 

Thoughtless luck, gleaming around the edges of fingers

curled around mucky Smiles.

similes of similar kind

wrapped about a copied mind.

**Author's Note:**

> i will go by sevens. oldest first, with most recent in the back, like a precarious thought tucked into the mind as a bookmark in a well-paged story.


End file.
